I’m 5’1 and I always envy women whose legs seem to go on and on for days. I mean, I love my legs, I just wish they had a bit more mileage to them.
heels
“This makes me feel ritually unclean.” – Don DeLillo, Valparaiso
Well, followers, I’ve flown the coop and left the country.
Not to worry. I’m just here for my summer internship and I am not totally sure how reliable the Internet will be (if I get any). But, I made sure to stock my queue, so it’ll almost be like I’ve never gone.
<3, Ivy
So, my girl Dacry is away for the week. My sexy banter count is going to be taking a pretty big plunge.
But, hey, while the cat’s away, the mice will play.
That little brat.
By the look on her face, she had been told not to wear those shoes again and she had seen it as a welcome opportunity to earn some punishment. She’s one of those, the kind who misbehave for the sake of receiving the spankings and attention they crave. She had positioned herself on the floor there on purpose, knowing her Master would pass by on his way to the kitchen.
But, today, he’s sick of her behavior. He’s tired of the control that she holds, the hand that she has in when she receives his attention. She thinks she can steer from the backseat, but the brat’s earned herself a spot in the trunk, to be neglected and ignored.
Not literally. To give her the satisfaction of throwing her in the trunk would be far too good to her. Instead, he’ll just ignore her. He’ll go about his business until she, upset and confuse, cannot handle the neglect. She’ll come to him humbled, willing to show complete obedience. No more deliberate provocation, no more brattiness.
And only then would she fully be his.
These old things? Totally for everyday wear!
It does save the gasoline that would fill those leaf-blowing tractors. How are you going green?
Grinding the leaves off the path.
Continued from here.
She closed up her pocketknife and held it out to me, “so, you like knives?”
I smiled and took it from her, “yeah, I just think they’re beautiful.” I flipped it back open and looked over it. I traced my finger up the blade. It was an absolutely gorgeous pocketknife.
“Do you collect?” she asked.
I shook my head, “no, no, I don’t collect. I just admire.” I tested the tip against the pad of my thumb before adding, “this is pretty nice.” She had to know what she was doing. She had to. No one who isn’t into knives would pick one like this.
No, I told myself. I was reading too much into this. This was probably just some girl who kept a knife around for fun. Who now thought I was a freak of nature for how giddy I was getting over hers. But she had smiled. I tried to think it over, but decided it was pointless to try to analyze it any further.
I closed it and reluctantly handed it back to her. The rest of the night played out fairly normally. I dismissed the entire situation as just a case of a girl who had, by some stroke of luck, but herself a knife without realizing how nice it was. Or someone had gotten it for her. I wasn’t going to ask any more about the knife. I didn’t want to attract more attention to how much I was feeling it.
I had gravitated to a different group of girls before I determined I should head back. I made my rounds, saying goodbye before heading toward the door. I passed her in my friend’s foyer, my hand on the door to the hallway.
“Ivy,” she said as I passed. “I hope I can see you again sometime.” There was a catch in her voice. I turned. She was holding the knife.
I booked it out of there, blushing like crazy.
Mmm. Is that a challenge?
writhe for me. you can’t touch yourself, but I’ll let you cum if you can do it without touching.
It was so kind of you to take me under your wing and teach me all about the art of performance. I’ve been practicing in the mirror just like you told me to. I know you must be awfully busy, but I could always use another go at rehearsing some of the finer points of our technique.
<3, Ivy